Lemonade
by ScottishTimeLady
Summary: The story of Lucy (Percy and Audrey Weasley's and youngest daughter) the day after after fifth birthday, and the incident that has an effect on her for the rest of her life. [Just a short piece which is a bit different from what I've done before, so I hope you enjoy it!]


Checked dresses. Stitched aprons. Lemonade. Strawberry shortbread. Brown curls. Pale lipstick. Smiles.

That's what Lucy remembers of her mother. The clearest memory is just that. The jokes and soft laughter breathing through the memory, this image. She can't remember what she was laughing at, whether it was something she'd heard on the radio or something that she herself had said. But there her mother was, gliding around in the kitchen. Looking back, Lucy always found it strange how motherly her mother had been, not like any of her Aunts. Not like Aunt Ginny, who was a good cook but very fiery and into Quidditch. Not like Aunt Hermione with her books and laws and official ministry business. Not like Aunt Angelica who she'd never seen in a skirt. Not like Aunt Fleur who looked as delicate as a porcelain doll but strikingly French. Not one of them was anywhere near as home spun cheerfully housewife like as she'd been. But that's what she was. And it was wonderful.

They'd never argued, her parents. Or maybe they had and she'd just never seen them. Lucy could remember her Father coming in from work and her mother rushing towards him, the pale pink lips catching his cheeks. He'd looked so young then, not like he was now. She remembers the slightly abashed look on his face, his glasses going askew as he struggled not to blush with pleasure. They were happy together, young, the whole world ahead of them with their two girls.

Of course, they wouldn't have all stayed so perfect. Her and Molly argued a lot, the fights escalating as they reached the teenage years, or maybe it was just because their mother had gone and they were both frustrated and upset. Or maybe it would have happened anyway. Lucy didn't know, the different strands of circumstances were too closely knotted to really be able to tell what it would have been like. She wished she knew though.

Lucy was only five when her mother died. The day after her fifth birthday. She'd still been giddy with excitement, playing with her new toys and admiring her pretty book. It was a day when Molly had been especially sweet to her, she remembered that as well – how they'd sprawled themselves out in the sitting room on that day in May with their rag dolls. She'd been giggling at Molly doing a funny deep voice for her brand new doll who hadn't yet had her personality defined (although Lucy was proud of the fact that her doll's dress was _much _prettier than Molly's) while her mother was in the next room preparing their lunch while singing and humming away to herself. Molly had ended up being the one who suggested the name for her doll that Lucy ended up choosing – Annabelle; which for some reason, always ended up reminding her of the smell of blue bells. They'd been so absorbed in their game that they didn't even notice when she'd stopped singing.

But of course, eventually Lucy had called out to her mother asking if their food was ready – she'd started to get a little hungry and was a rather impatient child. Lucy realised afterwards that she shouldn't have been hungry at all, she'd already had a snack mid-morning: lemonade and strawberry shortbread – what her mother always gave them as a treat when the weather was nice. Years later, Lucy had mused the fact that she couldn't have been that hungry to one of her school friends, who suggested that maybe she had some sort of intuition, or temporary insight, but Lucy knew really – or was at least pretty sure – that it was more to do with the fact that Molly had been stroking her doll's blonde hair and in the process making it sparkle in such a way that made Lucy incredibly jealous; it was so pretty – and reminded her of lemonade – that to avoid the green eyed monster she'd called out to her mother for something to eat and drink. And also because the spoilt side of her hated waiting for things.

When she didn't answer, Lucy huffed slightly before irritably getting up, with the still unnamed Annabelle hanging loosely from her hand as she marched towards the kitchen.

"Mum!" she'd called again as she neared the door, drawing the one syllable word out to the length that a three-syllable one would be.

There was no answer. Lucy glanced back at Molly briefly, whose eyebrows had changed slightly into what probably was confusion with a hint of concern as she stood up and moved towards her younger sister. By then, Lucy shrugged and pushed open the kitchen door to see what was taking her mother so long.

Lucy still tries to avoid thinking about the next few moments that happened, but there are two distinct images that she can never quite manage to get out of her head whenever her mind goes back to thoughts of her mother. One was the chopping board with a pile of shredded lettuce on three half-made sandwiches. The other was her mother sprawled on the floor with her wand about a foot away from where her right hand lay motionless.

She has, however, managed to turn the rest of the day into a narrative that she finds easier to deal with: how Molly managed to use their telephone to phone the one number written on a slip of parchment next to it to phone their grandparent's house (they'd been too scared to try using the Floo powder as they were both wary of fire at this point) and how first their Grandma apparated a few minutes before some Healers arrived and the grown ups took over. The next thing that Lucy can actually remember – a proper memory, not just the words describing what happened – was her father's face in St Mungo's as he broke away from hugging her and Molly.

It wasn't a sinister incident or attack that had taken her mother away from her – just a freak heart attack. Lucy was reminded of this a lot at different times in her life: in her third year at Hogwarts when she comforted Roxanne while Aunt Angelina had her Quidditch accidents; in her fifth year when Aunt Hermione was attacked by a centaur that didn't believe she was trying to negotiate better legal rights for them; and the numerous incidents Uncle Harry ended up in dangerous situations due to his job. Every time she would remember that her own mother hadn't died honourably, or even _magically_. It was as though her mother had failed a test of some sort. Even if Lucy knew that her mother wouldn't have suited a death like that, she still sometimes had bitter thoughts. It would almost make sense if it had been one of her Aunts or Uncles who always seemed to be doing exciting or dangerous things, not her sweet, motherly mother.

So Lucy grew up without her mother. There was a lot less laughter and a lot more hushed playing – not that she really felt like playing much that summer. Her father seemed to loose his foolish grins of delight, and when he scooped her up after he came from work, it seemed to be with less energy. Grandma Molly was around a lot more as well, during the day. Of course, Lucy and Molly loved their Grandma, but she had a certain briskness about her that they weren't used to in their cosy home. The years seemed to pass by, Lucy ended up going to a muggle school down the road, for convenience' sake, during the day, which Molly attended too, until she turned eleven. For some children, it would have been the worst day of their life, waving goodbye to their only sibling leaving for a whole term. Lucy stood on the platform, clutching her father's hand in one hand, with Annabelle tucked under her arm, while waving vigorously at Molly with the other, who leant out of the train window blowing kisses to them both. She missed Molly a lot: feeling lonely walking home from school; having to tell people that her sister had gotten a scholarship to a boarding school; spending the evenings with her father feeling the loss of Molly, who was always better at being able to keep up conversations with him. But no, that wasn't the worst day of Lucy's life. The worst day of her life was exactly two years later, when she saw her father standing alone in the crowd on the platform, waving goodbye to her and Molly. Later that year, she considered whether she should just stay at home, and educate herself, studying independently, so that her father would not have to sit alone in the evenings – even if they had often just sat in silence, reading. But after confiding in one of her teachers who she'd gotten on well with (the other girls, not so much at that stage) she resolved to stick out the year at least. But she ended up making friends, enjoying herself, and, being the slightly selfish person that she was, staying at Hogwarts.

The teenage years were odd ones for Lucy, although, admittedly, they were probably better for her than for Molly. Lucy, at least, had an older sister who, when things got bad, she could confide in – and Lucy always had the feeling that Molly never truly confided in her, with the protective older sister instinct kicking in. But they argued. A lot. They loved and trusted each other, but as their dolls graduated to their shelves and issues such as boys came along, so did new jealousies and fights. Lucy was always jealous over the fact that Molly seemed better able to get along with everyone as well as having good test marks, a better figure, a prettier face and seemed to grab all the boys' attention. Molly secretly envied her sister's shy and alluring nature, which seemed to make her the kind of girl that guys loved to secretly love and admire respectfully – if from a distance. Their arguments consisted of trivial things – borrowing the other's make up, reading the other's diary – and they never bothered to lower their voices. But there was a seemingly unspoken rule between them to not argue loudly over things that their mother might have helped with – such as the age of one of Molly's summer boyfriends. Those they had with whispered voices or the Muffliato charm.

On the whole, Lucy didn't have a bad time growing up. She got on well with her father, even if she did feel Molly always got on better with him. She felt sorry for him though. He'd never been the most upbeat character, but she always felt as though he was slightly more lost and worn down than he should have been. Her cousins and aunts and uncles were always around though, to keep them company and to help out. Despite her arguments with Molly, they were closer than any of their cousins appeared to be with their siblings. And even though she grew up without her mother Lucy managed to grow into her self anyway.

But there times, when she sees one of her cousins have a moment with their mother, whether it's kissing her cheek goodbye, or the small hug that the moody teenager pretends to shove away quickly, she can see they enjoyment they have for a split second, and Lucy can't help but think about her own mother, and the faded memories she possesses of her. Lucy doesn't really know what the relationship with her mother might have been like, and so she has a sort of nostalgia for what might have been. All she can truly remember of her mother being alive, is the memory of swinging her legs back and forth as she sat in the kitchen chair eating strawberry shortbread... but she can't help feeling that since then, lemonade has never tasted quite as sweet.


End file.
